


A Day to Forget

by kerravon



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Amnesia, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-08
Updated: 2012-12-08
Packaged: 2017-11-20 15:35:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/586925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerravon/pseuds/kerravon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Rodney, alone on another alien planet, being chased by bloodthirsty natives again... couldn't get much worse, right?  Well, that's what Sheppard thought, until he suddenly found himself in the same situation, but with a complete stranger.  Why couldn't Rodney remember anything?  Is that an arrow?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Day to Forget

**Author's Note:**

> Not mine, no infringement intended. Fiction for fun, not profit, because it's just so easy to whump these two!

This was not a good day. In fact, it was pretty much the sort of day that made you wish you could start over and just not crawl out of bed when the alarm clock went off. Unfortunately, a person invariably reached that conclusion once it was too late to do anything about it. 

Sheppard scrambled down the ravine, hauling a wheezing Rodney McKay after him. Scooting along sideways in the mud, he paused for a moment to wipe the sweat out of his eyes and listen for signs of pursuit. The scientist took the brief respite as an opportunity to double over, prop his hands on his knees, and gasp for breath.

Satisfied that no one was within spear-chucking range, the Colonel whispered, "Don't get too comfortable; you can bet they're expert trackers. They'll be on our tail any second."

Rodney grimaced and wordlessly waved a hand that said, 'Yeah, yeah, give me a minute, would you?'. Sheppard quirked a half-smile at the unspoken complaint.

The LTC's radio suddenly clamored for attention. Taping the earpiece, he hissed quickly, "Sheppard here".

Teyla's matter-of-fact tones were music to his ears. "Ronan and I have reached the Stargate, but I fear the Yoldans are not far behind. What is your status?"

"Not good. Just dial Atlantis and go. We're at least two miles east of the village; there's no way we can reach you before they post guards. Get back and tell Weir what happened; have her send a rescue team…in a Jumper!"

"What will you do?" The Athosian was clearly concerned.

"McKay and I will find someplace to hide and wait for the cavalry; just key this frequency when you come back and we'll let you know where we are. Now GO!"

Breaking the connection, he glanced over to the still-panting astrophysicist. "Follow me," he whispered, "and stay low."

\----------------------

The whole thing had started out innocently enough. The four had been at breakfast listening to Rodney bemoan a coffeepot that had been left on in the lab all night, with graphic descriptions of the resulting in caked-on sludge. The real tragedy, apparently, had been that the coffee came from somebody named 'Tim Horton'. Sheppard guessed it was a Canadian thing, but didn't see why this Horton guy couldn't just send more coffee. I mean, it wasn't like it was Starbucks or anything… Ronan Dex, bored with the conversation, pulled an amulet out of his shirt and started disinterestedly playing with it.

The trinket caught McKay's eye, and he stopped mid-rant and stared for a moment. Reaching for the necklace, he demanded, "Where did you get that?"

Ronan, bemusedly leaning back out of the scientist's reach, answered, "I traded for it."

Rodney, in an unexpected display of bravado, stood up and leaned over the table to examine it better. Rather than have the astrophysicist land in his lap, Dex untied the leather thong and handed the entire decoration to the eager man. McKay thumped into his seat, turning the device over and over in his hands.

After a minute he looked up. "Do you know what this is?" he asked.

"A necklace." Ronan stared at him with his trademark 'How dumb are you?' expression.

"Yes, yes, now it is. But do you know what it originally was?" He handed the intricately-detailed talisman reverently back to Dex as he spoke.

This had gone far enough; even John was getting bored of 'twenty questions'. "Why don't you just tell us, Rodney?" he asked as Ronan secured his necklace once more.

McKay wagged a finger at it. "That used to be part of an interstellar jump-drive interface; only Ancient ships like the Aurora or the Orion had them!"

"So, you think it was salvaged from a crashed Ancient ship?" Teyla failed to see the significance of the find.

The lightbulb visibly went on above Sheppard's head, and he grinned slowly. "Spare parts."

McKay held his hands out in a half-shrug. "Depends on how bad the crash was, and how much is still intact…but there are parts to the Orion that would take us weeks to replace!"

It was Sheppard's turn to lean forward. "So where did you say you got this?"

Further investigation revealed that the artifact had come from PX3-495. The natives of the planet were mainly hunter/gatherers, following the game during the warmer months, and returning to their permanent settlements for the winter. A hurried consultation with Teyla and Ronan, as well as a briefing with Weir, and SGA-1 was soon loaded with potential trade goods and headed through the Gate.

\---------------------

"The time has come, oh Most Wise. The world is becoming green again, and the moon full. I have read the entrails of the first kill of the Spring. Before the next sun passes we must Sacrifice to appease the Protectors and allow our tribe to remain hunters, rather than hunted." The village shaman was easily recognizable as he addressed the hereditary tribal leader; the beads, feathers, and facial paint was unique to the position.

The village elder rose solemnly to his feet. "It shall be as you say, Most Revered. Gather the people together for the selection."

A commotion outside caught their attention and, somewhat irritated, the Shaman preceded the Chieftain out the doorflap of the pole-lodge. The presence of the two men had an immediate effect on the milling natives; silence descended instantly. A lone, sweating hunter threw himself prostrate on the dirt before their feet, hands outstretched in supplication.

"How now, Norn?" asked the elder solemnly. "What news?"

Without raising his face from the dust, the young man replied, "Visitors, sir. Traders have come through the Great Ring, asking for sacred stones. They wish to barter many things."

The two village leaders exchanged knowing glances. "The Gods provide. Bring them to the village."

\-----------------------------

As they were escorted into the settlement by the enthusiastic locals, Ronan couldn't shake a vague since of…unease. Rather than suppress it, he narrowed his eyes and tried to determine the source. He hadn't survived as a Runner all those years without honing his instincts to a fine edge.

The community was typical for a semi-nomadic culture; the village consisted stick-reinforced dwellings covered with animal skins to keep out the weather and keep in the heat, circled about a main hall of a more permanent nature. Once they packed to travel in the summer months, the skins would be taken with them to serve as temporary dwellings on the hunt. The huts were clustered around the more sturdily built central council hall, where the Chief likely resided. Immediately to the side of that structure was a fairly ornately decorated tent, probably that of their 'medicine man'. He snorted to himself, but made no comment. After all, McKay was talking enough for all of them.

The astrophysicist was so engrossed in his Ancient handheld scanner that he failed to notice his own running commentary. "Yes, yes, definitely a power source," he muttered. "Faint…old…but definite." Adjusting the settings slightly, he stopped dead and began turning from side to side in smaller and smaller arcs, until finally facing the Shaman's tent. Looking up, he pointed at a squarish stone-like object that sat prominently before the entrance to the hut. "There. The power readings are coming from that rock."

Sheppard backtracked a few steps to peer at the scanner over Rodney's shoulder. "Are you sure?" he asked. "Last I checked, granite didn't give off power readings." He tapped the screen a few times experimentally.

McKay jerked the scanner out of the Colonel's reach and rolled his eyes. "Yes, I'm sure. Clearly, it isn't granite. Remember, the ship we're looking for crashed thousands of years ago; who knows what Ancient devices look like after they've been rained on for a few millenia?"

Sheppard grinned crookedly. "You mean I shouldn't take it for 'granite'?"

McKay's rejoinder was interrupted by the approach of two men of clear tribal significance. The one in the lead stood ramrod straight despite his apparent age of 60 to 70 years. Unlike the nearly-naked young men of the village, his shoulders were adorned with a flowing cape covered in beads and feathers. He carried a staff that was taller than his own 6-foot frame, but clearly did not need it for support.

The second man walked immediately to the right and slightly behind the first. Shorter and slightly slumped, his face was painted with wild designs in multiple colors, and his unkempt hair was woven with feathers and beads to match. His clothing was a loincloth like the younger hunters, but he also wore a feather collar that hung down from his neck over his shoulders. He too carried a staff, but his was shorter than the Chief's, and had a rattle on its end which he shook threateningly at the locals from time to time.

The Chief spoke first, directing his comments to Sheppard. "We welcome you to the land of Yolda and give thanks to our gods for your timely arrival." At his words the tribesmen all fell to their knees and bowed as one to the visitors.

Sheppard caught Rodney's eye and shrugged slightly; another weird local custom, courtesy of the Pegasus galaxy. Addressing their host, he nodded politely in what he hoped was sufficient respect, and replied, "Thank you. We have traveled far to meet you. We were told that this world is rich in items like this," he held up Ronan's necklace, "and might be willing to trade for them."

The Chief smiled widely, showing numerous broken and missing teeth. "Of course. If you will come this way?" He gestured towards the pole-lodge, then proceeded to enter it ahead of them. Pausing at the door-flap, he turned back momentarily. "It is our custom to leave our weapons outside the council chamber." He pointed towards the adjacent wall where a dozen spears and half-a-dozen bows could be seen leaning against the wood.

Sheppard nodded uncomfortably and swung off his P-90, leaning it next to the spear nearest the entrance. With a jerk of his head, he indicated for the rest of the team to follow suit.

Ronan's intuition was screaming in alarm by this point, and he was extremely reluctant to enter an enclosed space, particularly weaponless. His hunch was reinforced ten-fold when a dozen of the most muscular young men of the tribe immediately fell in behind the group, ready to take their weapons if they refused. Coming to a complete halt he stated simply, "I'll wait out here."

While Sheppard looked ready to force the issue, their host merely nodded. "As you wish. You may join us inside later if you desire." The Chief and shaman went into the lodge, followed by Sheppard, Teyla, and Rodney. The young hunters lined up on either side of the door, backs to the wall, as protection to the occupants inside.

Ronan nodded stiffly to the nearest young man. "Nice day, isn't it?" he grunted, trying to initiate a conversation and discover the source of his discomfort. The tribesman simply stared straight ahead, arms crossed, not acknowledging his presence. Shrugging, he began to wander towards the box that had fascinated Rodney earlier.

None of the guards showed any interest in him as long as he wasn't trying to enter the meeting hall, but he could feel eyes on his back regardless. Turning on his heel, he surveyed the village narrowly. The populace who weren't actively guarding the main hall had gone back to their normal activities. The women, gathered in small clusters and more demurely-attired than the men were tanning skins, while the children, chores apparently finished, were chasing each other raucously between the tents. Interspersed were occasional men sharpening their spears or practicing archery.

Ronan was beginning to feel slightly foolish as he bent over to inspect the slab. Four feet wide by seven feet long, it stood unevenly about three feet above the ground. Closer examination confirmed McKay's theory that it was actually made of extremely weathered metal. Loops of wire protruded from all four corners, and several grooves had been crudely dug lengthwise down the center of the table, collecting together at the lowest point of its slope. Walking around, he noticed a stone trough on the ground next to the confluence of the grooves. He frowned. The metal was particularly discolored on this side, and he ran a finger across its gritty surface. Frowning further, he rubbed the rust-colored powder between his fingers, then brought it to his nose. 

His eyes flew open in consternation. BLOOD! The slab suddenly assumed a more ominous meaning, as did the reference to their 'timely arrival'. "That's it," he muttered, hand flying to the pistol on his hip, "We're leaving."

Turning back towards the pole-lodge, he mentally prepared to fight his way in. Fortunately the flap opening and the group exiting forestalled him. His sigh of relief was short-lived as, at a nod from the Shaman, the young hunters began to surround the Atlanteans once more, two seizing Sheppard by the arms as he turned to reach for his weapon against the wall.

"Hey, now!" complained the Colonel, staring pointedly at the restraining hand. "What's going on here?"

All doubt vanished from Dex's mind. Firing his weapon into the air, he shouted, "They intend to use us as human sacrifices!" Pointing his pistol towards the Elder, he strode forward. "Isn't that right?"

The Chieftain nodded in acknowledgment, as if it were obvious. "That is why the Protectors sent you. It is your destiny."

Two guards rushed Dex. Recalling Weir's aversion to killing, he dispatched them manually, only to lose his weapon to a third. In the free-for-all that followed, the Atlanteans took a number of blows before they finally managed to break free and flee.

"You two head that way, we'll head this!" ordered Sheppard, pointing at Dex and Teyla. "That way we double our chances of getting back to the Gate and getting help!"

Ronan and Teyla nodded breathlessly, then took off at a dead run. The Yoldans were hot on their heels within moments, but Ronan and Teyla managed to shake off the hunters long enough to double back and reach the Gate, where Teyla radioed John.

Sheppard and McKay hadn't been as lucky. They weren't as experienced as the Pegasus Galaxy members of the team or their trackers were more adept; either way, they were having trouble losing them. The call from the Athosian came moments after Sheppard began to think they'd temporarily ditched the natives. He was immensely grateful to the sounds of rushing water in the nearby swollen river that he hoped had masked the conversation from searching ears.

Breaking the connection, the LTC muttered, "Now we just have to avoid those headhunters until Weir sends help." He crouched to scramble as low as he could on the steep, muddy bank, checking back from time to time to make certain that Rodney was keeping up. He had a vague notion of following the river upstream towards its mountain run-off origin, possibly into rockier terrain that would hide their tracks. The water rushing past was so loud that he almost didn't hear Rodney's scream of surprise.

Whipping around, he was just in time to witness the scientist disappearing under the churning water. The skid marks down the bank showed where the man had lost his footing and slid into the river. "Damn!" he cursed, diving into the icy watercourse after him. It suddenly occurred to the Colonel that, although they lived in a city completely surrounded by ocean, he had no idea if McKay could swim.

A few swift strokes brought Sheppard to where Rodney was desperately flailing, trying to keep his head above the current. John's heart skipped a beat as he saw his friend submerge, until he reappeared a few yards farther downstream. Swimming more quickly, he managed to wrap an arm under McKay's chin from behind. Getting a good grip, he yelled in the astrophysicist's ear, "Relax and try to float on your back; I'll get you out of here!"

A faint nod from the hacking scientist, and the struggling stopped. While not floating per se, he at least wasn't threatening to slip out of Sheppard's arms or drown them both as he pulled towards the opposite shore. Once in shallow water, he helped Rodney get his feet under himself, then the pair staggered onto the rocky riverbank. There the two collapsed, Sheppard on his back, Rodney on his hands and knees. McKay continued coughing for another full minute, then followed it by retching a liter of swallowed muddy water. 

Sheppard, winded, didn't have the energy to move, so he lay panting on his back staring at the blue sky overhead. 'That rescue team better get here fast; Rodney's not going far in this condition.' His eyes suddenly widened in alarm. 'The radio!' he recalled. His hand flew to where the device normally rested. 'Yep. Gone.' John rolled to his knees with a groan. 'Maybe McKay still has his.' He crawled over to where the scientist still crouched, vomiting.

A quick inspection showed that McKay had lost his radio in the torrent as well. Fine; they'd figure out how to reach Atlantis once they shook the natives. There was no way he was leaving Rodney behind. Putting an arm across the miserable man's shoulders as he heaved, the LTC asked, "You OK?"

Slowly the gagging was replaced by gasping, and McKay shot him a look of sheer disbelief. "Do I look OK?" he rasped, and was seized by another paroxysm of puking. Sheppard continued to kneel next to him as he anxiously scanned the immediate surroundings for signs of pursuit and found none. Finally the scientist wiped his mouth and sat back on his heels, fixing Sheppard with a confused stare.

Sheppard knew how he felt; he'd had a few benders in his college days, not to mention a few late nights at the O-Club when he was younger. Of course, beer probably tasted better than river water…at least going down. He quirked a smile in sympathy as he asked, "Better? They're not on our tail yet, but we need to get moving."

Rodney's obvious confusion grew. "Who are 'they'?" he demanded. "And for that matter, who are you?"

Sheppard frowned at him and stood up, still keeping an eye on the far riverbank. "Not funny, Rodney," he commented distractedly. Glancing down at the still-kneeling scientist, he held a hand out to help the other man rise.

McKay ignored the outstretched arm as his baffled expression deepened. "Rodney?…Rodney…", he mused, "That must be my name". He fixed Sheppard with a razor-sharp glare; "That still doesn't answer the questions: who are you and from whom are we running?"

The Colonel's brows creased in unhappy surprise. "You're serious, aren't you?" he asked. "You really don't know who I am!" 

McKay's face reflected his irritation as he growled, "If I knew, then I wouldn't have asked, would I?"

Sheppard crouched next to him in a flash, palpating his scalp and forehead for signs of injury. "Hmmm…no goose eggs I can find…Does this hurt?" He pressed several different areas experimentally.

Rodney swatted his hands away, then clambered to his feet under his own power. "No, I haven't hit my head!" He tilted his head thoughtfully and continued, "I don't think…" He probed his own scalp and, finding no sore spots, nodded in satisfaction. "Nope, nothing. I just…don't remember."

LTC Sheppard's entire attention was focussed on his injured colleague. "What do you recall? Atlantis? The Wraith?…Your own name?"

McKay rolled the questions around in his mind for a bit before answering. "Nope. I got nothing." He paused and amended, "I think I'm a scientist…and you just called me 'Rodney', so I deduce that's my name."

'Maybe something in the water he swallowed…' postulated the Colonel, standing himself. 'Drugs? Poison? I wish Carson were here!'

Further conversation was interrupted by a shower of arrows from the opposite bank. "Shit!" cried Sheppard as one pierced his left sleeve from behind. "I forgot about the Yoldans! Come on Rodney, run!" So saying, he grabbed the astrophysicist's elbow with his good arm and propelled him up the slope in front of him. 

McKay, eyes wide with fear, took one glance back at the angry natives across the river before turning and taking off at full speed. Reaching back and snapping off the protruding arrow shaft, Sheppard was on his heels in an instant.

They ran as fast as they could to put some distance between themselves and their pursuers, but had only managed about half a mile before McKay became winded. Their flight had been mostly uphill, and the terrain had become increasingly rocky, much to Sheppard's pleasure. The hunters were going to have a harder time tracking them once they got to this side of the river, as footprints would be rare.

"Hold….up…." McKay gasped, leaning heavily on a boulder. "Haveta…catch….breath…" He bicycled his right arm as he tried to get the words out.

John skidded to a halt, then came back to the scientist, anxiously scanning the direction that they had come from. "OK," he hazarded, "I could use a break myself, but only for a minute. " Plopping to the ground, he quickly began to rip open his bloody jacket sleeve to expose the arrow. 'Time to get rid of this thing,' he reflected grimly. 'I know you're supposed to leave it in place for the bleeding, but it's not near any major blood vessels, and it's keeping me from using my leg properly. Since all the wishing in the world isn't going to make Beckett suddenly materialize...' McKay stared at him as if he were from Mars.

"Who…are you?" the scientist finally panted.

Sheppard glanced up from his arm. "Oh, sorry. I didn't have time to introduce myself back there. I'm Colonel John Sheppard."

Just then he managed to tear the fabric enough to get a good look at his injury. The projectile had entered though the back of the upper arm, coursing through the subcutaneous tissue and part of the biceps muscle before partially penetrating his arm in the front. Glancing up again, he noticed McKay watching him with morbid fascination.

"What happened to your arm?"

Sheppard stared wide-eyed, as if Rodney had lost his mind. "I got shot with an arrow."

McKay grimaced. "I can see that. How did it happen?"

John's stomach fell to his boots. 'Oh shit,' was his first instinctive response, but he managed not to say it aloud. "You were there, Rodney. By the riverbank? Not twenty minutes ago?"

"Nope, 'fraid I don't recall." McKay turned contemplative. "Rodney, huh? So that must be my name…" he mused aloud.

Sheppard looked back down at his arm as he replied, trying to quell his worry over his friend and his irritation at having to repeat himself. "Yeah. You're Rodney McKay, astrophysicist and general pain-in-the-ass." Whipping out his Leatherman, he tried unsuccessfully to grasp the point of the protruding arrow and pull it on through. He finally gave up and turned to a somewhat-recovered McKay.

"Hey, Rodney, I need you to help me get this thing out." 

The scientist nodded and knelt next to the injured man. "Looks ugly. How'd it happen?"

Sheppard closed his eyes and counted to ten. "I was shot with an arrow after saving your ass from drowning. Now I need your help."

"What do I do?" McKay asked.

'Finally, progress.' "See the remnant of the arrow shaft? I need you to push on that until the arrowhead is completely through my arm. Then I'll pull it out from the front." 

McKay studied the wound critically. "Why not just pull it out from this side?"

"Arrows usually have barbs on their tips to prevent that. It's already partially out this way, anyhow; I just need you to finish the job." He pulled a field dressing out of the pouch on his LBE and handed it to McKay. "When we're done we'll wrap it with this," he explained.

The scientist gulped and pulled his sleeve over his hand, not wanting to touch the bloody object. Steeling his nerve and closing his eyes, he said, "OK. Here goes!" and pushed with all his might.

John bit his lip in an attempt not to cry out as the arrowhead ripped through the remaining skin, but couldn't suppress a groan. "Sorry, sorry, sorry!" lilted McKay nervously, wincing at the sound but keeping his eyes tightly shut.

The pilot released the breath he'd been holding and grimaced reassuringly. "Nah, it's good. You can open your eyes now." He grasped the protruding arrow and pulled; it slipped easily out of his arm leaving a relatively clean wound in its wake. John pocketed the arrow as Rodney began to wrap his injury.

"What, you're keeping that as a souvenir?" McKay was aghast as he finished neatly tying the bandage outside Sheppard's jacket.

'Brilliant, maybe, but that boy needs some first aid classes,' thought Sheppard as he inspected Rodney's handiwork. 'And I thought he was making a sympathy play with the dressing after Koyla stabbed him; seems he just doesn't know any better.'

To answer the man's question, however…"Two things - first, it could be poisoned, so I want to get it to Beckett. Second, I don't want to leave any evidence around that we've been this way." He flexed his arm and hand experimentally and was relieved to find that, while it hurt like hell, it still worked. "That'll do until Beckett can take care of it."

"Who's 'Beckett'?" McKay questioned, reminding John that his comrade was in less than perfect shape himself.

He patted the scientist on the shoulder as he stood up. "Don't worry, you're going to have plenty of time to get to know him once we get home. For now, let's see what I can do about throwing those natives off our track."

Jogging back down a couple of hundred yards, he found a scraggly tree with low-lying branches. Snapping one of them off, he hurriedly brushed away any of their footprints that he could find amid the stones, relieved to find that he hadn't been dripping blood the whole journey and leaving a blood-trail. When he got back to McKay, the scientist was eyeing him in disbelief.

"Well, it always works in the Westerns!" John exclaimed defensively, favoring his left arm.

"Who are you?" asked the befuddled scientist.

Sheppard looked at him in sheer disbelief. "LTC John Sheppard. We've been over this, McKay."

McKay shook his head stubbornly. "No, we haven't. So my name's McKay, I take it."

"Doctor Rodney McKay," Sheppard repeated wearily. It was turning into a long day. "Come on, let's get moving." He gestured up the slope for McKay to precede him. At this point he didn't trust the man not to wander off and pick daffodils.

The scientist didn't move. "What happened to your arm?" he asked, pointing to the bandage.

The pilot just shook his head. "An arrow, and there will be more where that came from if we don't get a move on!" He grabbed Rodney's arm and pushed the protesting amnesiac forward.

McKay, after glancing around nervously, began a trotting up the hill. Sheppard followed a few yards behind, backwards, brushing away all traces of their passage.

\-----------------------

As the ground became rougher, McKay stumbled, keeping his feet only through Sheppard's steadying hand on his elbow. Concerned, the Colonel turned to the breathless scientist and suggested, "Why don't you wait here while I scout ahead." So saying, he jogged forward and quickly vanished among the boulders.

He didn't return for a few minutes, during which time Rodney's short term memory once again dumped, leaving him to figure things out on his own.

"OK, I'm sweaty and panting; I'm certain that this is not normal for me, so I must have been running. But why?" He tapped an index finger to his chin in thought.

"Two possible reasons: 1) I'm chasing someone, or 2) I'm being chased by someone." Glancing nervously about the clearing where he stood, he saw no signs of pursuit.

"All right, that leaves number one; I'm chasing someone. But why?"

He pondered for only a moment before spreading his arms in epiphany, "Because they know who I am and why I'm here! And they must not want to tell me, either, or they wouldn't be running from me." He began pacing angrily.

"Well, that's just ridiculous. I have a right to know who I am! How dare they try to keep that from me. I'm certain that I'm indispensable wherever I'm from, and they're trying to prevent me from doing my job!" His eyes narrowed in fury as his rant increased in volume.

"We'll just see about that. When I catch whoever it is, I'll beat it out of them if necessary."

Unfortunately, it was just then that John returned, glancing backwards over his shoulder as he approached. "Hey, McKay, are you ready..ooommph!" His sentence was cut short as the overwrought scientist tackled him at the waist, bringing them both crashing to the ground. Next thing he knew, Rodney had grabbed him by the shoulders and was shaking so hard he could hear his own brain rattle.

"Who are you and why won't you tell me who I am?" cried the distraught man.

"Ho…hold on a minute. You are Doctor Rodney McKay, I am LTC John Sheppard!"

"Why don't you…oh. My name's Rodney McKay?"

"Yeah, and when you're in your right mind you're our head scientist."

"Wait. What's wrong with my mind?"

John smirked. "You don't remember this, but you have amnesia."

Rodney rocked back on his heels and considered this information, releasing Sheppard in the process. "Well, that would explain why I can't recall."

"Come on, Rodney, we need to move." The pilot held out a hand to the bemused astrophysicist. "I'll explain the rest as we go." 

As McKay nodded and they headed off, Sheppard rubbed his bruised ribs and muttered to himself, "And I am not letting you out of my sight again until we reach Atlantis."

With the situation was finally defused, mostly due to Rodney forgetting what he was angry about, the two headed on their way. True to his word, however, Sheppard tried not to be out of McKay's sight at all.

Over the next couple of hours the pair zigzagged and doubled back multiple times in order to throw off their trackers, during which time they saw no signs of pursuit. Their flight didn't leave much time for conversation, but Sheppard had to answer the exact same questions every fifteen minutes or so or McKay would come to a complete halt until things were explained to him. Again. 

The inane repetition was giving Sheppard a headache.

Finally the LTC, while still quite concerned for his friend, began to lose patience with the constant reiteration, and his innate sarcasm began to break through.

"Who are you? Who am I?"  
"I'm the Duke of York, you're the Queen of England. Now get moving, your Majesty."

"Who are you? Who am I?"  
"I'm Elmer Fudd and you're Bugs Bunny. Be vewy, vewy quiet; we're hunting wabbits."

"Who are you? Who am I?"  
"I'm the Roadrunner and you're Wile E. Coyote, Super-Genius. I like the way that rolls out."

"Who are you? Who am I?"  
"I'm Abbott, you're Costello, and Frankenstein's monster is right behind us!"

"Who are you? Who am I?"  
"I'm Ricky Ricardo and you're Lucy, and you have some 'splainin' to do."

"Who are you? Who am I?"  
"I'm the Marquis de Sade and you are my sex slave…Ahhh, I'm not goin' there…."

"What happened to your arm?"  
"Arrow, remember?…I suppose not."

"What happened to your arm?"  
"The Giant Rat of Sumatra bit me, and he's right on our tail!"

"What happened to your arm?"  
"I was run through by your rapier wit."

"What happened to your arm?"  
"It was a love bite, sweetie, don't you….nahhh, still not going there."

"Why are we running?"  
"Natives, arrows, human sacrifice? Aww, forget it. Nevermind, you already have."

"Why are we running?"  
"The doctor said it was good for your health."

"Why are we running?"  
"Getting ready for swimsuit season."

"Why are we running?"  
"We're following the other lemmings."

"Why are we running?"  
"The doctor said it was good for you…in your fifth month of pregnancy with our love chi…no, forget I said that. Wait, you already have."

 

They finally came up short at a narrow but deep ravine near the top of the mountain they'd been climbing. 

Rodney peered over the edge, aghast. While the opposite cliff-face was only about 15 feet away, he couldn't even see the bottom of the chasm. Dropping a stone into the depths, he reached a count of twenty-two before hearing it strike. Closing his eyes, he sat back on his heels wondering, 'Now what?' in despair.

However, the LTC seemed quite pleased with this development. Glancing around, he spotted a straggly tree on the edge and headed for it. The tree was more than half dead, with sparse leaves littering its otherwise bare branches and most of its roots protruding from the soil. Sheppard nodded and muttered, "Perfect" before shoving his good shoulder into it and beginning to push. His efforts were rewarded with further uprooting as the tree canted forwards and then stopped.

Sweating, he called back, "Hey, McKay! I need your help!"

The scientist gave up trying to determine the depth of the fissure and looked up. "Am I to assume that my name is McKay?" he demanded imperiously for the twentieth time that afternoon.

"Yeah. Rodney A. McKay." Sheppard shoved his shoulder forcefully into the tree, getting it to tilt over another few inches.

McKay stood and brushed himself off. "What's the 'A' for?"

""Asshole'. Now get over here and help me fell this tree."

Rodney's eyes narrowed as he complied with poor grace. "Somehow I doubt that," he muttered, leaning both arms into the tree and scrabbling for traction with his feet. With both men pushing the tree finally gave way, crashing to the ground. The angle John had chosen and the nearness of the timber to the cliff resulted in it landing partially on both sides. "Yes!" cried Sheppard, punching the air enthusiastically. He immediately wished he hadn't, grimacing in pain and clutching his injured arm.

Realization dawned in the amnestic scientist, who began shaking his head and backing away, hands held in front of himself defensively. "No, no, no, no…." he chanted. "There is no way you're getting me to cross that thing. Do you know how far down that chasm goes?" His voice had become shrill.

The pilot grinned crookedly. "Nope. Do you?"

"Over a mile deep!" he squeaked, then sniped, "I don't know who you are, and I'm taking your word for it that my name is Rodney McKay. I'm not buying the 'A' part, though."

Sheppard took a theatrical bow. "Lieutenant Colonel John T. Sheppard, at your service. Now get over here."

Rodney visibly deflated. "I know I'm going to regret this…" he began, "But what's the 'T' for?"

John's grin grew impossibly wide. "Tiberius. Or at least you always say that should be my middle name."

McKay chuckled, and Sheppard's hopes soared. "Do you remember?' he blurted.

Rodney shook his head. "No. It just seems…funny, somehow. I actually don't know why."

Sheppard nodded, disappointed. "Well, come on. We need to get across." An idea occurred to him and he put on his most sincere pokerface. "You may not remember, but you do stuff like this all the time."

McKay's gaze alternated dubiously between Sheppard and the ravine. "Really?" he finally squeaked.

"All the time. Would I lie to you?"

Rodney frowned. "I have no idea," he huffed, striding up to the makeshift bridge. "But I'm beginning to wonder."

Sheppard came up behind the still-tentative scientist. "Look, the best way to do this is upright, on foot. Kind of like the balance beam in high school."

Rodney nodded nervously and put one foot on the trunk near the exposed roots. The tree shivered slightly with his weight and he promptly hyperventilated, closing his eyes tightly. "I can't do this," he moaned. "Why do we have to do this?"

"The Yoldans. You know, the guys shooting at us?" Rodney opened his eyes to stare blankly at the pilot.

Pointing to the now-bloody bandage on his left upper arm, he said, "Arrow? You helped me pull it out?"

McKay closed his eyes again and shook his head.

John's shoulders slumped. 'Now what?' he wondered. 'How am I going to get him across that ravine? I can't throw him across…'

The scientist answered the question himself. Opening his eyes, he gulped audibly then muttered, "OK, I don't know who you are, but for some reason I trust you. Get us across."

For a split second John felt guilty about the 'all the time' lie earlier, but pushed it aside for expedience. Rodney's swiss-cheese memory would be moot if they ended up getting caught and sacrificed to some alien deity. Besides, he wouldn't remember it in fifteen minutes anyway. Coming up behind the astrophysicist he hooked his good hand in the back of his belt. "OK, I've got you. Now put the other foot up."

McKay complied, now balancing on the log. "One foot in front of the other, and don't look down," Sheppard instructed. Rodney nodded, wide-eyed, and took a small step. 

"Good, good," encouraged the Colonel. "Now again." 

The right foot was moved in front of the left. "Again." Left before right. "Again."

In this fashion they pair made it more than half way across before there was a problem; Rodney looked into the ravine below and froze.

"Come on, McKay, move it. We can't hang around here all day." Sheppard intentionally kept his tone light.

Rodney's eyes were shut tight. "I can't," he hissed.

"You have to. If you don't move, we'll fall." Sheppard took a deep breath. "Just like before. Right foot in front of left."

Knowing that Sheppard was absolutely correct, McKay began to hyperventilate and then opened his eyes. Careful not to gaze past his feet, he concentrated on the steady voice behind him, and moved exactly as instructed. He wobbled slightly as he shifted weight with the first step, but Sheppard yanked up his belt securely, steadying him. Each step thereafter was easier until the instructions stopped.

"What next?" he asked his companion, trying to keep the panic out of his voice.

"Get off. We're there." So saying, Sheppard released his hold and stepped onto solid ground.

"Oh." 

"Now help me pull this thing down." The pilot grabbed the top of the tree firmly and began heaving.

McKay grabbed his arm. "Wait a second. How are we going to get back?"

Sheppard grinned up at him as he continued to inch the makeshift bridge off the far rim of the fissure. "We go around. But the Yoldans will have to as well. If they track us to here, they'll have to double back until they can cross or until the terrain flattens out. Either way, we've bought ourselves time for Atlantis to find us." So saying, he managed to jerk the roots over the edge and hurriedly released his hold, allowing their makeshift bridge to crash into the canyon below.

McKay sagged in exhaustion. "I wish I knew what was going on," he complained.

Sheppard glanced at the setting sun. "We need to find someplace to hole up for the night."

"Why?" As McKay became more exhausted, his questions became more petulant.

Sheppard closed his eyes and counted to ten. Opening them again, he replied, "Because we lost our radios and your memory in a river, so now we have to hide from the natives and regroup."

"Oh." Rodney replied, dissatisfied. 

As his jaw dropped to ask another question, however, John sighed and held up a hand. "Not…now, OK. Just give me a break here."

To his amazement, McKay did just that, and they trudged forward in silence. 

Travel through the rocky ground proved increasingly difficult for the two men as the light began to fail. Rounding a corner, the LTC smiled wearily; it was a cave.

Mostly hidden by the surrounding boulders, the slight crevasse in the stone could only be spotted at a certain angle. Holding up a hand, Sheppard whispered, "Wait here" to Rodney. He really didn't want to deal with the Yoldan equivalent of a bear with an amnesiac scientist in tow.

"Why? And who are you to be telling me what to do?" McKay's memory had shorted out yet again.

"I'm General Sheppard, and you're my manservant Rodney, so shut up and do as I tell you." John had even gotten tired of his own humorous replies over the last few hours, and decided to stick to responses that might get less discussion and more cooperation from the opinionated scientist. 

McKay found himself speechless long enough to allow the soldier to disappear into the defect in the rock. Upon squeezing through the narrow entrance, the cave widened into a respectable chamber, fully protected from the elements outside. 

Pulling his flashlight from his LBE, he unsuccessfully tried to flick it on. Shaking it vigorously produced a few random drops of water, left over from his previous dunking.

'Of course, why not?' he thought to himself with a grimace. Peering about as best he could, he inspected the chamber. The light from the entrance revealed no signs of recent animal occupation, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Next he noted a slight breeze indicating that fresh air was entering from the back of the cavern. 'At least there's fresh air, and possibly even an escape route. I'll have to get a fire going before I can find out for sure. The cave is enclosed enough to hide the light from the natives, and the air current will keep us from asphyxiating. The darkness will hide the smoke from prying eyes.'

Returning outside to where the confused astrophysicist was staring up at the darkening sky, he announced, "OK, we'll bed down here for the night. Let's get some wood."

As McKay opened his mouth to ask a question, he held up a silencing hand. "Not…one…word." So saying, he turned on his heel and headed for some nearby scrub. McKay, still confused, watched for a moment then shrugged and followed. Soon they had a fair stack of kindling just inside the cave entrance.

Making a small pile of twigs and dry leaves on a flat, clear spot of the rocky floor, Sheppard pulled out his lighter; fortunately, it had dried up enough to function. Within moments flames began to lick upwards; feeding it larger and larger pieces of wood soon resulted in a comfortable warmth.

His frustration having finally reached a boiling point, Rodney demanded, "Now I want to know who you are and why I'm going to ruin my back by sleeping in a rocky cave."

John closed his eyes and sighed, suddenly aware of the inexorable throbbing of both his upper arm and his head. Rubbing his temples with both hands, he released a heartfelt sigh. Opening his eyes again he fixed Rodney with an unblinking stare. "Look, you're Rodney McKay, scientist. I'm John Sheppard, soldier. We're running from Geronimo and his braves, who shot me with an arrow." He pointed to the bloody bandage on his left upper arm. "Something has happened to your memory; not only do you not remember that we've been working together for over a year, but half-an-hour from now you won't remember this conversation." Sighing again, he stood up from the now-blazing fire. "I need to check out the rest of the cave. You stay here and rest; maybe the explanation will stick this time, but I doubt it." Running a hand across his face in exhaustion, he grimaced, "I wish there was a way of reminding you of all this without having to retell it every thirty minutes, but your personality is, unfortunately, completely intact." So saying, he grabbed a particularly long branch to use as a torch and headed towards the rear of the cave.

The hollow didn't extend far beyond the main chamber; a hole in the wall about eight feet up and only about a foot wide accounted for the fresh air, but it was too high up and small to use as an escape route. He held his flaming branch high to get a better look; nope, there was no way they'd scramble through that. He'd just have to guard the front entrance as best he could, then sneak back to the Stargate in the morning. Turning wearily back to the fire, he also realized that he wouldn't be able to stay awake the entire night. Every bone and joint ached, and he was definitely feverish; most likely the arm wound was beginning to get infected, but there was no help for it now. If they could get back to Beckett…

He broke off that thought as he caught sight of Rodney sitting cross-legged by the fire, staring at something in his lap. 'When we reach Beckett, he's going to examine you first, my friend…' Now that they were comparatively safe, he could allow himself to worry. He had no idea what had happened to his brilliant friend, but he suspected it was the water he'd swallowed, as there was no sign of head trauma. While he'd never heard of such a thing, he was reticent to drink anything else on this planet. Fortunately they each still had a canteen firmly attached to their belts; that'd last until morning at any rate.

Coming up behind the seated figure, he asked, "What do you have there?" 

McKay looked up at him blankly. "Pencil and paper, but I don't know why. I must have been planning on writing something." He held up a small notebook and pencil for John to see. "The paper seems water-damaged, but it's dry now. Who are you, anyway?"

Sheppard's heart soared, despite the repetitive questions. "You may not realize it right now, but you're brilliant!" This might be the answer, at least temporarily, to one problem. Squatting next to his stubborn friend, he said conversationally, "If I answer your questions, could you do me a favor?"

McKay's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Depends."

John kept his face carefully neutral. "Fair enough. Could you write on the first page of your notebook, 'Read Me'? Write it where you can read it yourself." 

McKay looked at him as if he'd grown a third head, then shrugged and complied. "Now tell me who you are," he insisted.

"Flip to the next page and write, 'My name is Rodney McKay'." Rodney did so, then turned to Sheppard again. "OK, Rodney, can you tell me why we're in this cave?"

The pilot blinked, then realized the problem. "No, no. I'm John Sheppard; you're Rodney McKay."

McKay was frustrated. "Then why'd you have me write 'My name is Rodney McKay'?"

John didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Taking a deep breath, he continued, "Next page: 'I have amnesia'."

Rodney wrote it down, then jerked his head up, "I do? Know wonder I can't remember…"

"Next: 'The other man in the cave is John Sheppard, my friend'."

After reluctantly transcribing the requested sentence, Rodney began to catch on. "This is for me, isn't it? I take it I've asked these questions before."

Nodding wearily, Sheppard continued, "Flip to the next sheet. Write, 'We're in a cave hiding from the bad guys'."

"Bad guys?" he squeaked as he wrote.

Sheppard nodded. "Next: 'They shot John's arm with an arrow'."

McKay jotted it down, then glanced up at Sheppard's arm. "You are hurt!" he exclaimed, noting the blood on the bandage.

Sheppard snorted, "Observant, aren't you? Next sheet: 'So be quiet and go back to sleep'."

McKay wrote down the words, then looked again at the begrimed pilot. "How many times have I asked these questions, anyway?"

"I've lost count. We're going to try and reach medical help for both of us tomorrow, but the 'bad guys' are in our way." He gestured to the notebook. "Now, try to get some rest. Lie down next to the fire, and set that up on the ground next to you, open to the page 'Read Me'."

McKay smiled wryly. "It just might work; even if I forget this conversation, I think I'll recognize my own handwriting."

John returned the smile. "That's what I'm counting on. You aren't remembering details, but you seem to have retained your…youness, for lack of a better term." He stood and gestured towards the cave entrance, "I'm going to settle down over here where hopefully I can hear anyone approaching." As he passed the woodpile, he grabbed a hefty branch to use as a club, then settled against the wall next to the opening. Despite the coolness of the evening, he felt indescribably hot, but pushed the thought away as irrelevant. He uncapped his canteen and took a long, gulping drink; he'd get medical attention when they got back to Atlantis. Glancing back at the fire, he smiled to see Rodney curled on his side, head pillowed on his folded arm, snoring softly. Easing his left arm into his lap, he leaned his own head back against the cold stone. While he hadn't really expected to sleep much in that uncomfortable position, his exhaustion quickly overcame him, and he nodded off.

Several hours later he found himself wide awake, unsure as to what had roused him. Glancing worriedly towards McKay, he breathed in relief to find him still fast asleep near the dying fire. The notebook had been moved to a different position, indicating that the scientist had looked at it at least once. It was still set up where Rodney would see it first thing upon opening his eyes, however, so even in his befuddled state he recognized it as a good idea.

'Alright, so that wasn't it,' John concluded. He listened intently, trying to detect any noise outside the cave that might have disturbed him. All he could make out was the crackle of the fire and Rodney's soft snoring. Rising silently to his feet, he winced at the unexpected pain the movement caused him. After a moment he realized that his head had rested at an awkward angle, resulting in stiffness and cramps in his neck and shoulder. The real problem, however, was his left arm; the area around the wound had swollen, causing the bandage to partially cut off his circulation. In fact, his fingers were tingling from the decreased blood flow. Pulling out his Leatherman again, he flipped open the knife and cut the knot one-handed. He sighed in relief as his hand began to regain feeling, and he flexed his fingers experimentally. He'd pull the whole bandage off and change it once it was daylight, but for now this would do.

Still flexing his fingers, he picked up his makeshift club and stood just inside the entrance to their shelter against the wall, once again listening intently. Absolutely no noise could be heard from the outside, and that's what bothered him. He'd now been on more alien worlds than he had countries on Earth, and one thing that was fairly uniform was the sheer volume of noise audible at night. Insects, rodents, small nocturnal mammals - often more species foraged in the safety of the darkness than did in the light of day. But right now, he heard nothing…and that was bad.

His gut instinct was to go outside and 'check things out', but he discarded the notion as suicidal. If the natives had tracked them down, he'd be a sitting duck as he exited the cave; he wouldn't be able to swing his weapon until he was clear, and he wouldn't know where to swing it in any event. The natives could incapacitate him with a few well-placed arrows, leaving Rodney at their mercy. No, better to pick off as many as he could as they came through the entrance themselves.

He glanced over at where McKay still slumbered and considered waking him and alerting him to the danger, but decided against it. Past experience had shown McKay to be confused and groggy upon first waking up under the best of circumstances, never mind the added confusion of whatever was affecting his memory right now. Better to let him sleep. Besides, it might be a false alarm…but in his heart he didn't think so.

He stood sentinel for so long that he began to wonder about his conclusions, when he suddenly heard a light shuffling on the ground just outside the entrance. Raising the club above his own head, he pressed back into the stone expectantly.

He didn't have to wait long; one of the natives crept through the door, hunched over and staring at where McKay slept. After being certain that he had a clear shot, John brought the log down on the back of the skulking man's head, knocking him out instantly. A shout of alarm went up outside, and the natives began swarming the cave. Fortunately only one could come through at a time, and the bodies were rapidly piling up.

Not taking time to look behind himself, John called to his companion, "Hey, Rodney, wake up! We've got company!"

Some muffled snorting and grumbling, then McKay shouted, "What the…who are these people? What am I doing here?"

Sheppard smiled as he took out another of their attackers. "I'll fill in the details later, but these yahoos want us dead, and I could really use a hand."

He heard McKay jump to his feet just as two hunters somehow appeared simultaneously. He managed to strike one, but the second got behind him and yanked his arms, causing him to drop the makeshift weapon. White-hot fire shot up his nerve endings from the wound, filling his vision with black spots and turning his knees to water. He couldn't restrain a gasp as the agony intensified, the native discovering his weakness and exploiting it with vicious ferocity. Sheppard was moments from passing out when suddenly the pressure released. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he quickly turned to see McKay standing over his erstwhile captor with a club of his own.

Picking up his own again, he called, "Thanks Rodney!" as he headed back into the fray. Unfortunately, the locals had taken advantage of his temporary absence and were now swarming through the entrance. Hindered by having only one functional arm, he still managed to take a respectable number of their attackers and McKay wasn't doing half bad.

"Do I know you?" he heard Rodney ask over the din, and he gritted his teeth. 

"Later!" he cried in response. "Busy now!"

Ultimately sheer numbers overwhelmed them; spears and arrows were ineffective in such close quarters, so the natives had found clubs of their own. John took a blow to the back of his head that had him seeing stars, and by the time his vision cleared there was a stone knife pressed firmly against his throat. Yanking his arms behind him resulted in his dropping unceremoniously to his knees from the renewed agony of his infected extremity. Before he could recover, he was firmly bound with leather thongs and pulled to his feet. Glancing about, he saw McKay being trussed despite a heated argument with their captors. The two Atlanteans were then ushered outside where they were greeted by the sanctimoniously smug smile of the medicine man.

"Bring them!" he commanded, and Sheppard stumbled as he was shoved from behind. He managed to keep his feet; from the sound of it, Rodney had not been as coordinated. He suspected they could hear the scientist's vocal complaints all the way back in the village.

The hike itself was a nightmare; in the dark, over rocky, sloping terrain at a slow jog. Even under the best of circumstances John would have found it challenging. As things stood, he was weak, feverish, tired, and in a great deal of pain. At some point the world narrowed down to putting one foot in front of another without tripping. After what seemed like eternity, the group stopped. Raising his head sluggishly, Sheppard was surprised to find that they had made it back to the village, and now stood in front of the stone-like slab they had noticed upon their arrival. He examined the crowd, gratified when he saw McKay standing upright, fire in his eyes. Apparently at some time during their trek his captors had tired of his constant complaining, for he had been firmly gagged with a ripped section of his own shirt. 'How'd I miss that?' Sheppard thought, then shook his head. They had bigger problems to worry about.

They must have been traveling for several hours, because the sky was lightening with the impending dawn. Carefully assessing his surroundings, the LTC noted that most, if not all, of the village was present in a semicircle around them. Many of the men now wore decorative paint and feathers, and two were seated with what appeared to be drums in front of them. One drummer sat on either side of the Shaman's tent, and was flanked by a highly ornamental young woman carrying a painted bowl. In other circumstances Sheppard would have mentally expounded on the relative virtues of the two ladies, but right now he was having trouble focussing on the problem at hand. The Shaman suddenly appeared from his tent, garbed from head to toe in feathered ceremonial robes. 

Raising his hands above his head in supplication, he addressed the skies above, "Oh Great Protectors, who know all things, we beseech you to accept this humble offering in the spring of our year. May these two men meet with your favor, and grant us our boon. Allow our tribe good hunting, and save us from being hunted ourselves by the Wraith."

The ceremonial prayer was accented by occasional synchronous, rhythmic beats from the drums behind him. The medicine man lowered his arms and stared at the crowd. "Bring forth the chosen ones."

Sheppard found himself dragged roughly forward, to stand side-by-side with the amnestic, gagged, terrified scientist in front of the Shaman. The native's eyes glinted with holy purpose; there would be no dissuading him from this course of action, but it didn't mean John wouldn't try.

"Hey, now, just wait a second. Who are these 'Great Protectors', anyway?"

The native stared at him in disdain, but answered. "They are the ones who make the sun shine, the flowers bloom, and give us fortune on our hunt so we will not starve when the cold time comes. Most importantly, as long as we do not displease them, they keep the Wraith from harvesting our people, allowing us to grow and multiply on this world." Turning to the two young women, he commanded, "Prepare them!"

A knife was suddenly thrust down his shirt, ripping it open to his waist. One of the two young ladies came forward and, dipping her fingertip into her bowl, began decorating his torso with complex designs. Sheppard found it hard to concentrate on his argument with all this activity, but he tried, knowing their lives depended upon it.

"Now, why would these 'Great Protectors' want you to sacrifice two men who've never heard of them before? Wouldn't they be more pleased with the blood of 'true believers'?" Flinching as the woman painted his left nipple, he objected, "Hey, that tickles."

The shaman seemed content to explain as long as the ceremony wasn't delayed. "The Protectors caused you to arrive on this world mere moments after revealing the need for a sacrifice. It was Divine Providence."

"No, it was coincidence," Sheppard stressed. "Besides, there were four of us, and now there's just two. Shouldn't two of your people step up as well?" 

A murmur of fear went through the crowd, but was quickly quelled by the magician. "The entrails only mandated 'sacrifice'; they did not specify how many were to die."

Sheppard glanced over at the wide-eyed but still-gagged McKay in the improving light; maybe something could be salvaged, since the cavalry wasn't going to arrive this time. "OK, how about this; you take me first, then ask your 'Protectors' if they need a second death. If they don't, you let my friend go."

The girls, their work apparently finished, knelt with bowed heads in front of the priest, holding out their bowls in supplication. After receiving a dismissive nod from the man, they resumed their prior positions on either side of the percussionists.

The shaman appeared to ponder the request, then slowly nodded. "It is not our usual way, but, as you are willing to give up your life to save his, I will consider it." He held up a finger in caution. "I will read your entrails after the Gods have been given your blood; if they are satisfied, your friend will be released. If not, however, he shall die before the sun as reached its zenith."

John's lips thinned, and he nodded himself once, abruptly. "Fair enough," he replied. He didn't dare look over at Rodney, for fear that his face might weaken his resolve. Wryly he thought, 'Fortunately, he probably won't remember any of this an hour from now, so at least he won't be permanently traumatized…'

"Take him." Two warriors held John's arms as the thongs binding his hands were untied. He was grateful that they were much gentler than they had been in the cave, allowing him to walk forward without collapsing from the pain. He tried to block the sound of Rodney's struggles to free himself as he concentrated on the Medicine Man. 

"OK, give me a clue. What do I do next?" He held his chin up proudly, belying the pounding of his heart.

The shaman gestured to the slab between them, indicating that John should lie down. Gulping, he complied, still favoring his left arm and ignoring Rodney's nonverbal protests. The warriors then spread his arms and legs and secured them to the corners with the ancient wires. However, the act of raising his left arm drove white-hot knives into the base of his skull, and he paled, breaking into a cold sweat. He managed to not make a noise only by closing his eyes and biting his tongue. The priest ignored his discomfort and resumed his litany, displaying the sacrificial knife to the crowd. Sheppard became peripherally aware of some shouts of 'The Protectors!', but he found himself wishing that they would just get it over with as the pain from the wound became unbearable. He refused to think about Rodney's life depending upon the priest pawing his 'entrails' after he was dead.

The shouting became louder and more disjointed before Sheppard finally felt what he'd been dreading - the knife striking the skin of his exposed, painted chest. However, instead of the point piercing his heart with lethal force, he felt the side of the blade strike and bounce off, as if the instrument had been dropped. Cracking open one bleary eye, he stared upwards uncomprehendingly for a moment, then broke into a slow grin; not twenty meters above him floated a PuddleJumper in all its glory.

The villagers disappeared as if they'd never existed, allowing the ship to land unmolested in the center of the village next to a furious McKay. Teyla, Ronan, Lorne, and four Marines in full battle dress piled out of the back, weapons cocked and ready. The perimeter was rapidly secured as Teyla headed to Sheppard's side and Ronan began to untie the hopping-mad scientist.

"Wow, am I ever glad to see you," John chortled, giddy with relief. "That guy was going to read my entrails!"

Teyla made quick work of the wire with her knife as she spoke. "Then I am glad we made it in time. We have been searching for you all night. Ronan and I followed your trail from the village on foot while the Major searched from the air. The tracks led to the cave where you sought shelter, but the natives had already taken you away." Putting an arm behind her now-freed commander, she helped him sit up. "They must not have been worried about pursuit themselves; their path was clearly marked by signs such as broken branches and disturbed earth. I am surprised that they didn't take more care," she added.

Sheppard took a minute for the world to stop spinning before commenting. Swinging his legs over the side, he squinted up at her. "Actually," he grimaced, "That was me."

The Athosian raised an eyebrow but remained prudently silent as she proffered a hand to help him stand, which he readily grasped with his right. Levering to his feet, he continued defensively, "Hey, it worked in the Westerns!"

Teyla's lips thinned. "I am unsure as to the nature of these 'Westerns', but your track was easily followed. Perhaps a course in pursuit evasion might be prudent…"

"Yeah, yeah," he nodded tiredly as they headed for the Jumper. Teyla glanced nervously around, wary that the natives might object to their 'sacrifice' escaping. Sheppard was clearly unable to take care of himself as he slogged forward determinedly.

As they boarded the shuttle, Teyla settled him next to Rodney on a rear couch as the rest of the soldiers piled back in, securing the hatch behind the last man. Turning to the scientist, he mumbeld, "So, Rodney, how's it going?"

A bemused McKay tilted his head and stared at him through narrowed eyes. "I know you, don't I?" he commented.

"Here, sir, this might help," Lorne said, handing Rodney the notebook which he had recovered from the floor of the cave. McKay, seeing the words "Read Me" in what he thought was his own handwriting, immediately quieted and began thumbing through the notebook.

"Take us home, Sergeant," ordered Lorne before turning back to Sheppard. Jerking his head towards the befuddled scientist, he lowered his voice. "So, did he hit his head or what? He can't even remember his name."

Sheppard closed his eyes and leaned back wearily. "Not that I know of; he fell into the river and swallowed a bunch of water before I hauled him out, but I couldn't find any lumps when I checked."

Lorne tried to be reassuring. "We'll be in Atlantis in a few minutes. I've radioed ahead; Beckett's team will be waiting with open arms."

"Good, good," he mumbled, closing his eyes and letting himself really relax for the first time in almost a day. "Looking forward to it…"

He must have dozed off because the next thing he knew, Beckett was gently shaking his good arm. Prying open his eyes, he stared blearily up at the Scotsman. "Hey, doc, am I ever glad to see you." Glancing around the shuttle, he noticed that it was almost completely empty except for a gently-smiling physician and a very-worried Weir. He quickly squelched the panic that fluttered in his stomach. "Where's McKay?" he demanded, keeping his tone level.

Beckett grinned. "Already on his way to the infirmary, lad, and you'll be following him. Do you think you can walk to the wheelchair outside, or shall I have the orderly bring it in here?"

"I'll walk," he replied, slowly getting his feet under him. Carson slipped a hand under his right elbow for stability, then steered him towards the waiting transportation at the foot of the ramp.

After the pilot was safely settled in the wheelchair, Weir asked the million-dollar question. "John…what happened?"

Sheppard thought about all that had occurred over the prior twenty hours and opted for the Reader's Digest Condensed version. "The natives decided that our team had been sent by their gods for human sacrifice. We escaped and split up, but Rodney fell into the river and nearly drowned. When I pulled him out, we'd lost both our radios and Rodney's memory. We hid in a cave, got caught, and I was damn near shish-kabob before the rescue team arrived." Closing his eyes again, he decided to enjoy the ride.

"And what about this, laddie?" Beckett asked, gently touching the injured arm.

Sheppard inhaled with a hiss as he glanced at the wound. "Oh yeah, I got shot with an arrow. I have it here somewhere…" Patting the remnants of his uniform, he smiled crookedly as he produced it from a pocket. "Figured you might want to run some tests on it or something."

"Aye, thank you. Here we are." The group had entered the infirmary where McKay lay in a bed, complaining vociferously.

Sheppard was wheeled to the adjacent stretcher, and two orderlies appeared out of nowhere and helped him up onto it.

"Now, son, I'm going to give you some Fentanyl and Versed so I can examine that arm and get it cleaned out humanely. Before I do, though, could you fill me in on Rodney?" Beckett glanced to where Teyla was patiently re-explaining who she was and where they were. Sheppard smirked as he wondered what repetition she was on. 

He decided that this time, the more detail, the better. "Well, we'd been running for a while when he slipped down a muddy embankment and landed in a river. I dove in after him and pulled him out. He didn't hit his head, though." An idea occurred, and he turned to Elizabeth. "You know, we live in a city surrounded by ocean; we need to make sure that the entire population can swim. With your permission, I'll have someone go through the personnel records and see if we have any qualified instructors."

She nodded, quirking her lip in a slight smile. "That's a good idea. I'll get someone on it while you recuperate."

Beckett had a question of his own. "Lad, how cold was this water?"

Sheppard snorted. "Icy. How'd you know?"

"And the memory problems started immediately afterwards?"

"Yes. He couldn't even remember his own name. I had to remind him every 15 to thirty minutes." Sheppard smiled as he heard Teyla repeating herself to the scientist in the background, and jerked his head in their direction. "Pretty much like that."

"All right then." He gestured to a nurse with a syringe. "That's all I need to know. Let's take care of you now."

As John let the drug take him, he mumbled, "Will he be OK?"

"I need to run a few tests, but I think he'll be fine." With those reassuring words echoing in his ears, Sheppard drifted off to sleep.

\-----------------------

Sheppard awoke some time later to the sound of McKay arguing vehemently with someone. He discovered that the paint had been washed off his chest, his ruined uniform removed, and his left arm expertly cleaned and bandaged. He also felt better than he had for over a day. "But I'm perfectly fine! I already told you, my name is Rodney McKay, this is Atlantis (where I am Chief of Science, by the way), and I am way too busy to waste my time lying here in bed twiddling my thumbs!"

Sheppard's eyes popped open and he turned to watch as the beleaguered nurse patiently answered, "Until Dr. Beckett releases you, that is exactly what you're going to do."

John couldn't contain his curiosity. "McKay? Are you with us?"

Rodney crossed his arms in irritation. "Yes, of course I am. Beckett says I had something called 'transient global amnesia', but it's gone now."

The nurse, seeing her chance to escape, did so with alacrity. Sheppard ignored the departure. "I have to tell you, I was pretty worried. You remember who I am?"

"Yes. You are John T. Sheppard, Chief Military Officer of this debacle."

Sheppard looked at him quizzically. "So…you do remember what happened on the planet?" 

Rodney winced; this was apparently a sore spot. "The last thing I remember is Teyla radioing us that they were safe. Next thing I know, I wake up here."

"So why'd you say my middle initial was 'T'?"

"Come on, 'Tiberius' fits you. You and your self-sacrificing 'Kirk' complex." McKay rolled his eyes as if it were obvious.

"So, John, how are you feeling?" Beckett had slipped into the room unnoticed by the two men.

Sheppard smiled gratefully and readjusted his pillow with his right hand. "A hundred percent better, doc. Mind telling me what happened to super-genius over there? Why couldn't he remember anything? How'd you fix it?"

Beckett chuckled. "I didn't have to 'fix' it, but I did run a series of tests to make sure that nothing else was wrong. Rodney had 'transient global amnesia' and recovered on his own."

"I told you that." McKay was indignant.

"Would you please shut up? I'm trying to listen to the doctor."

Beckett's eyebrows rose in surprise; there was a first. He assumed a more didactic mode. "As you may know, amnesia can be caused by a number of things, including trauma, disease, infection, drugs, alcohol, stroke, or it can be psychogenic. However, about five people, mostly men, in every 100,000 every year have a brief spontaneous episode of profound amnesia with no antecedent cause. These attacks can last from a 30 minutes to twenty-four hours, and are often less frightening for the patient than for his friends."

"You can say that again," muttered Sheppard. "But why couldn't he remember what I told him? I thought with amnesia you just forgot a given block of time, but remembered everything that happened afterwards. Rodney kept having to be told his name."

"Well, that fits. But he still functioned like Rodney, didn't he?" Beckett asked.

"Yeah, and that was weird." Sheppard sat up straighter, carefully moving the injured arm. "Whatever makes him…McKay was still there, even if he didn't know his name!"

"Hrmphhhh" came from the disgruntled scientist. "I am here, you know."

Sheppard turned to him in exasperation. "But you weren't there," he tried to explain.

"I was. I just…don't recall," McKay replied defensively.

"In this condition, most of the higher functions of the brain are retained, such as personality, language function, attention, visual-spatial and social skills. He probably knew that he was a scientist, but remembered nothing of Atlantis. The frustrating part for caregivers, however, is that…," he flipped open his laptop and began to read. "During the period of amnesia, people suffering from the disorder cannot remember recent occurrences nor can they retain any new visual or verbal information for more than a couple minutes. They are often very confused by their surroundings and the people around them. They continuously ask questions about events that are transpiring, for example where they are, who is with them, and what is happening. However, once they are told, they quickly forget the answer, and repeat the question again." The Scotsman looked up from the text to meet Sheppard's startled gaze. "Sound familiar?"

"You hit the nail on the head. But why did it happen? Is it likely to happen again?"

Even McKay seemed interested in the answer to this question, and leaned forward expectantly.

Carson smiled reassuringly at the nervous scientist. "Well, the good news is that you are no more likely to have a second attack than John here is to have a first. There's a lot of disagreement as to why these episodes occur, but there is often some stressor involved. There is evidence that emotional stress, sexual intercourse, immersion in cold water, or strenuous physical exertion can potentially trigger this type of memory loss, and you were not only running full out, but fell into 'icy' water while doing so. There's two out of four triggers right there."

"Will I ever remember what happened on the planet?" McKay frowned.

Beckett shrugged helplessly. "Probably not. While some people can vaguely recall the sensation of being unable to remember, most lose that period altogether, as it was never converted from short-term to long-term memory." He opened his hands. "If you want to get technical, it appears to be a dysfunction of the diencephalon and medial temporal lobes…" he trailed off as he watched both patients' eyes glaze over, then snickered. "Na, I dinna think you wanted to get technical."

Sheppard turned to the scientist and, in a truly heartfelt tone, related, "Trust me, Rodney, you wouldn't want to remember. I mean, running from bloodthirsty natives, almost drowning in a raging torrent, crossing a canyon on a felled tree, and being caught and tied up for sacrifice…why would you want to remember? It was not a good day." He considered his words for a moment, then turned to the physician. "Hey doc, do you have anything to make me forget?" He was only half-joking.

"Ach, but then who'd fill out the mission report?" Carson chuckled. Turning to Rodney, he continued, "And you will stay for observation tonight, no arguments and no hassling my nurses. Got it?"

"Yeah." McKay hung his head like a whipped puppy.

Beckett relented a little. "I'll tell you what. I'll send Zelenka up with a laptop so you can check on any ongoing projects in your department, but you can't leave the infirmary until I say so. Deal?"

Rodney visibly brightened. "Deal!" he agreed.

Shaking his head, Beckett left the room to make a few calls.

Luxuriating in the feel of fresh linens against his body, the pilot relaxed back into his pillows and let his eyes slide closed. The unpleasant feeling of someone staring at him finally forced him to crack open one eye and turn towards his roommate. "Can I help you with something, McKay?"

Rodney squirmed uncomfortably. "I just…it couldn't have been as bad as all that, surely."

John sighed. "Yes, it was. After I pulled you out of the water I realized that we'd lost both radios; you were mostly-drowned and tossed up half the river, and I had no way of calling for help. Then you sprung that 'Who am I?', 'Who are you?', 'Where are we?' crap, and I was scared down to my toes. I was so scared that I temporarily forgot that we were being chased, so the bastards shot me in the arm with an arrow to remind me. We ran, but I kept having to tell you over and over again not only why we were running, but what your name was. I was sure there was some drug or poison in the river water you swallowed. Anyway, after we managed to ditch them, you pulled the arrow out of my arm and bandaged the wound. Then we resumed running until we came up short against a deep canyon, which we crossed after pushing down a tree down as a bridge." 

McKay began wagging his finger. "See, I have a problem with that. I can't imagine walking across a deep chasm on such a makeshift bridge."

"You almost didn't. We got about halfway across and you made the mistake of looking down. Still, you did make it, and we dropped the tree in the ravine to keep from being followed."

McKay crossed his arms. "Well, that clearly didn't go as planned."

Sheppard grimaced. "Not hardly, although it did buy us a few hours. Unfortunately, the air vent for our cave was line-of-sight with the village; they saw our fire and came to collect us." He grinned at the memory. "Let me tell you, when your back's against the wall, you can be a real wildcat. You took out at least three of those natives before they overwhelmed us with sheer numbers."

"What about the trip back to the village?"

"I'm afraid I can't help you much, there. I'd been beat up pretty good, and I think I might have been a little delirious from infection by that time. You must have been giving them some lip, because the next time I remember seeing you, they'd gagged you with your own shirt!"

"Why weren't we sacrificed, then?"

"Sheer luck. The rescue team arrived, and scared the natives off."

"And I woke up here, having forgotten all that fun…" McKay's voice was laced with sarcasm.

"Hey, what can I tell you? Some days, it's not worth getting out of bed." 

Fin


End file.
